


Maybe Wednesdays

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, First Time, Humor, M/M, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney thinks Wednesdays are the worst, and server rooms are sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Wednesdays

**Author's Note:**

> Excellent real-time beta by Mischief.

Out in the furthest reaches of the Pegasus Galaxy, on an insignificant little planet designated P9F-184 by the Ancient civilization that had heretofore inhabited the city presently occupied by the expedition currently making Rodney McKay's life a living hell, self-same Rodney McKay was at this moment trying desperately not to tear the hair from his head in a spectacular display of outrage. Because, once again, it had fallen upon him to save all their hides from imminent extinction thanks to a hapless blunder by an ill-educated minion, and so here Rodney was, on a Wednesday, even.

Rodney McKay hated Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days reserved for the most vile, pointless, repetitive, drudge-like tasks that yet somehow only he alone was privileged to do. Tasks like re-aligning the long-range scanner, vector array by vector array. Or defragging the carbon-dioxide detecting sensors on the environmental controls. Or recalibrating the water filters. (Actually, that last one he did because he liked his water tasting just exactly right, and not because of fear of death. Although many, if not most, of Rodney's day-to-day motivations could be traced back to FoD, that last one could not. He just had very particular tastes when it came to water, Jell-O, coffee, and chocolate.)

But why should this Wednesday, already filled to the brim with unpleasant tasks, be bumped up a notch into the red zone of dire, impending death simply because one of his minions decided to earn Brownie points by "lighting up the Gate room" for Atlantis and decking the halls, as it were, thus inadvertently throwing the delicately rewired power grid into a feedback loop?

"So, how fucked are we?" Sheppard asked Rodney, leaning up behind him far too close for Rodney's peace of mind. The man's adrenaline sweat had somehow combined with his virulently toxic Aqua Velva cologne into an improbably pleasing (and dangerously distracting) mélange, and— 

"Could you give me a little space here, Colonel? I'm trying to forestall an impending disaster," Rodney said. He'd kicked everyone else out of the lab in the hopes he could focus, but Sheppard had insisted on staying to keep tabs on his progress.

"That fucked, huh?"

"We are screwed, yes. Royally, unpleasantly, possibly with a fully-powered ZPM—thanks so much to Dr. Lanier's incompetence, we'll be decking the halls with our lower intestines at this rate, and a Merry Christmas to all."

"Terrific image. Thanks." 

"You're welcome." Rodney proceeded to type with one hand and pull up schematics with the other, with Zelenka's voice droning levels in his ear that were very bad news indeed. 

"All right. All right," Rodney said, seeing a possible way out. If he could only—yes, he might just shunt here, drain just enough power to bypass, and then bring down this sector— "Everyone please stand by for black out in Sector 3," he said, and then carelessly made the change, not giving one good goddamn if anyone lost their work. Time was critical.

"That was just mean," Sheppard noted, and Rodney grinned hard, because Sheppard sounded almost gleeful. 

Then Rodney was too busy talking on the comm and flipping switches like a slide puzzle, getting all his ducks following in a row. It was almost pleasurable, how easily it all fit together—the solution. He was conscious of Sheppard still hovering behind him, the heat of his body close but not confining, Sheppard watching his every move, and Rodney realized, improbably, that he was hard. Rodney's cock was hard—the words 'cock' and 'Sheppard' floated in his mind for a moment, and then he was typing again, bringing Sectors 6 and 7 back up in succession, and he smelled Sheppard's aftershave and flicked a glance backward before adjusting himself in his pants.

He heard Sheppard make a sound behind him. Not an angry sound, more a gasp. Rodney couldn't spare too much time to process it. If Sheppard was thrown, so be it. A hard-on was possibly not a reasonable response to averting death yet again, but it was Wednesday. 

"It's Wednesday," Rodney said, just to be clear, since his hatred of the day was notorious, and Sheppard made another sound, this time a sort of chuckle, and he drew closer again, leaning in, and put his hand on Rodney's waist.

This time, Rodney didn't mind at all. He just kept jabbing at his keyboard—he was almost done with the sequence now, and it occurred to him this was a strange way to cap off a flirtation that had spanned years and light-years, but he wasn't complaining, necessarily. If John wanted to make a move, on a Wednesday, no less, Rodney was thrilled. 

"Radek, how's the ZPM looking?" Rodney said, and leaned back a little to rest against John.

_"Power levels have dropped out of the red zone, Rodney. We are good."_

"Thank God. You'd better be the one to talk to Lanier. I'll just make him cry."

_"Affirmative. Merry Christmas."_

"Whatever." Rodney clicked off his comm. He felt Sheppard move closer and press his cheek against Rodney's temple, then rub his lips there. "Hmm. Coding turns you on, I guess." Rodney's voice shook a little.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's the fact you just saved our large intestines." John's arm curled around Rodney's waist, and Rodney turned to face him. John had a small smile on his face. 

"What are you smiling about? It's still Wednesday. Any number of things can still go wrong."

"But that means something could go right, too, right?" John grinned winningly.

"Oh, please. Don't try that with me." But Rodney couldn't help smiling back.

Sheppard raised his hands. "Fine. No trying. Only doing."

"Oh, my God, tell me you didn't just quote Yoda at me. That is not conducive to my hard-on at all."

John started laughing. Rodney found, despite the ridiculous quality, he kind of liked the sound of it. John sounded relieved, too. It made Rodney feel strange—glad, and relieved as well.

"Well, don't just stand there yucking it up. Kiss me already," Rodney said, because his heart hurt a little bit at the strange way John was looking at him, as if Rodney were a surprise, a miraculous, unexpected gift. 

"'Kay," John said quietly and he leaned in and kissed Rodney, his full, soft lips closing around Rodney's, his tongue flicking out along the seam of Rodney's lips. Then John pulled back and licked his own lips, and Rodney's heart went thumpity-thump unfairly hard in his chest.

"Okay, for a start," Rodney said, his voice more breathless than he'd intended. 

"Yeah?" John's eyes crinkled.

"Yes. Um. Very okay. In fact, I'm starting to think maybe Wednesdays aren't that bad after all."

John's smile could have lit up the Gate room. 

"Of course, we'll need to test your methodology. For repeatability. And, uh—"

"Naturally," John said ironically.

Rodney wasn't a terribly patient man, which was why, instead of suggesting they go back to his quarters like civilized people, he simply grabbed John by his gun belt and dragged him into the server room. 

"Cozy," was John's comment as he surveyed the rows of blinking lights.

"Yes," Rodney said fondly. "LEDs are better than Christmas lights any day." He was particularly fond of row K5, where he kept the Oracle x86 rackmounts that were slowly acquiring massive chunks of the Ancients' database. His hard-on gave a happy throb, and he pushed John to sit on top of the cart they sometimes used to move the equipment. "You have no idea how good you're about to get it."

"I—uh, it's all good," John said, and his hand cupped Rodney's cheek to pull him into another kiss. 

This kiss was less tender and more rabid, as if Sheppard wanted to impress upon Rodney the vast, aching chasm of his desire through the medium of lips and tongue. If so, mission accomplished, Rodney thought dazedly as he pulled away and surveyed John's flushed cheeks and dark eyes.

"Right," Rodney said, and dropped to his knees.

"What—"

Rodney ignored him and deftly unbuckled his belt to get at his pants, batting away John's efforts to assist. Ridiculous blue-striped boxers were the next barrier to Rodney's intent, but he shoved them down and out of the way, and took hold of John's blood-dark cock.

"F-fuck," said Sheppard.

"Mmmm," Rodney murmured, already busy tasting. He curled his tongue around the ridge, stroking at the rough circumcision scar—these poor Americans—and then sucked the tip into his mouth, grinning inwardly at John's heartfelt groan. Rodney was the king. Below, he massaged the root of John's dick with his thumb, his fingers curling around the shaft, and then Rodney applied himself to going down, down, an impressive amount, considering how long it had been since he'd sucked a nice cock, smooth and salty, the veins a pleasing texture against his tongue. He lost himself in the pleasure of it for a while, dreamily sucking on John's cock while his own throbbed in happy resonance. 

"Oh, God, Rodney," John said at one point, and closed one hand gently over the back of Rodney's head, his fingers ruffling through Rodney's hair like petting a cat. 

Rodney peered up to see John staring down at him, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, his plump lower lip caught between his teeth. A shudder traveled through John's body as their eyes connected, and John squeezed the back of Rodney's neck in warning.

Rodney sucked hard a few more times, disappointed it had to end, and then John's cock jerked in his mouth. He swallowed hastily and pulled away, cradling John's dick through the final spasms.

"Holy jeez," John said. His thumb brushed at the corner of Rodney's mouth, an awed smile on John's face echoing his approval.

"I did tell you," Rodney said, climbing to his feet by using John as something of a ladder. John helped him up and kept on pulling until Rodney was leaning over him, his hips trapped between John's knees.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," John said, and proceeded to kiss Rodney hard, his hand snaking down to unfasten Rodney's pants. 

"I'd be careful if—oh, very well, you seem to be handling things—God, yes, please. Yes. Please right...right there, yes. Harder, squeeze hard—now a little faster if you don't—God, okay, okay, okay, keep doing, keep doing, keep doing _that_ , what is that? What are you—Christ! Oh! Oh! Oh! Sweet mother. Sweet, sweet mother of the infant baby—ahhhhhhhhhh."

__"Good?"_ _

__"Blergh."_ _

__John gave him a kiss. "You seemed to be getting into the Christmas spirit there for a second."_ _

__"Oh, please." Rodney tried to stand up but his knees were a little shaky. "Hey, use this." He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. "I don't want you getting any spunk on my shiny servers."_ _

__John snorted a laugh as he cleaned up. "Can't have that."_ _

__"No, we certainly can't." Rodney leaned against John's side and surveyed his domain. "They really are quite pretty, aren't they?"_ _

__"Yeah. They are. All the pretty blinking lights."_ _

__"We should just have the holiday party in here."_ _

__"Nah. This is our place."_ _

__"Oh. Right." Heat rushed into Rodney's face. "Although I'm happy to continue this back in my quarters. For the sake of repeatability under different parameters," he added earnestly._ _

__"Right," John said, nodding. "Gotta keep testing."_ _

__Their next experiment carried them safely through to Thursday._ _

__

___................................_  
December 23, 2014  
San Francisco, CA 

**Author's Note:**

> If you missed the reference to [Das Blinkenlights](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blinkenlights) see [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEevSIkReGo) for the ultimate geek xmas tree.


End file.
